Vangrant's Drabbles
by acesfirefist
Summary: A couple drabbles I did way back when. Mostly involves Mugen and his ties to the sea. All one-shots.


**A/N: Just a bunch of short drabbles I did on my Mugen account a whhillle ago. Some of 'em are actually pretty good. R&R are always nice, and appreciated! Enjoy~.**

**I own nothing but the words.**

Time hadn't been kind, that much was sure. The once agile bones of a young man had been replaced with sturdy yet sometimes brittle limbs. He was, of course, still in decent enough shape. For a man to reach his 48th year of birth, they had to be.

So there he stood, the fuzz on his head slowly fading into grey fluff. The once valued whiskers on his face had also changed, causing him to look even more older than he seemed. But, like he gave a rat's ass. All he cared about was killing his latest victim and getting paid.

Even in his elder state, the look of a vicious, relentless dog was placed onto his features like the sun was placed high in the sky above. That look alone, had killed hundreds, maybe even thousands throughout his years. He turned to the boy at his side, the bastard child he had fathered ten years ago. Perhaps he had grown more accustomed to people by now, maybe even learned how to be friendly, as most old people did.

"Goddamn asshole, go get me somethin' to drink instead of just standing there acting like a freakin' moron," It seemed not everyone was affected by the saying, especially not Mugen, "And shut the hell up about your mom, I ain't gonna hook up with girly again. Besides she's with that four-eyed loser anyways. Now get me that goddamn drink!"

* * *

The islands hadn't always been kind to him, that much was true, but they held a sense of relief. Whenever his bare skin would hit the sand, or his toes would rush through the ocean water he felt at ease; like nothing could overtake him.

The cool liquid rushed to meet him, coming just above his knees and covering the tattoos that adorned his ankles. Tattoos that he had long since forgotten their purpose. His knees came forward as the thin torso of a ruthless killer leaned in, taking in the scent of salt and water. It calmed him, reminded him of home, and for a split second, Mugen felt like he was on top of the world.

But as all good feelings had to leave, so did this with the shouting of a female voice from his right side, beckoning him to join the two of them for lunch.

* * *

He had never been fond of the ocean. The tides had seen things he wanted no man to see. They knew memories he didn't wish to recall. It would seemingly stare back at him, with what he could only imagine was a smug smirk. The nerve, the audacity of this ocean. To know stories of his and then stare as if it could blackmail him.

It was completely unjust, and if Mugen could, the damn water would have died by his hands years ago. But seeing as it was nothing more than a part of the world, that was impossible, he would stick to growing an undying hatred for the liquid.

The smell of salt and driftwood would fill one vagrant's nostrils, as eyes half lidded stared at the crystal water before him. It wasn't fair, that this element knew so much about him. A flash of a ship pasted through his mind, along with the mischievous grin of a certain pirate. Mukuro. It seemed that was all he would think about when around the salt water. The memories were so tied together it, so interlaced, that Mugen couldn't see anyone else's face in the reflecting pools.

Yet another reason to hate it. His hands, while relaxed before, had clenched into fists then, the memories of betrayal flooding back. Trust was nothing. Friends were nothing. The only person he would ever worry about was himself. But even his conscious would betray him at times. He would find himself yearning for the smell of water, or wishing to see a smile from a certain woman.

So who could he trust? A huff of air released from his lungs, as he gave a kick into the water.

He could trust _no one._

* * *

The ancestors; that's what they were. Ancestors of old, of people who he was sure weren't even related to him. They were there to greet him into the spirit world, where there would be no more struggles. He would be accepted into Hell as one of it's members, forever doomed to fight for eternity. That part he didn't mind. If all he had to do was fight and vanquish his enemies in the afterlife, he could do that. But what if it was more?

And so as the ancestors of old loomed over his body for the third time, all he could think about was what lied in store for him. What horrors would hell bring, and how was he going to tackle them on? He was confused, the thought of his eternal soul rotting away within the fires causing him to burst back. The energy that had been set aside to keeping his body in place was placed within rough moments. Only his arms and legs couldn't move. There was nothing he could do.

Nothing but wait.

His mind drifted to his life; the turmoil of betrayal, the happiness of friendship; it was all there laid out in front of him. Too many fights, too many words left forgotten. It all seemed pointless the final thoughts of a pink kimono and a pair of glasses flashed through Mugen's head all he could mutter were four words, weak and fragile just like his life.

"_Not yet…damn it._"


End file.
